


You Came Along And Moved Me, Honey

by flowercrownfemme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ASMR, Candle Reviews, Domestic Fluff, Dorky Harry, Established Relationship, Fluff, Harry's Weird And Louis Loves Him, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Louis Has A Lot Of Theories, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, Luxury Candles, M/M, Oops and Hi, Scents & Smells, Songwriter Louis, Supportive Boyfriend Louis, Title From Great Balls Of Fire By Jerry Lee Lewis, YouTuber Harry, mostly - Freeform, secretive harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 08:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15190601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownfemme/pseuds/flowercrownfemme
Summary: Louis was gone for Harry from the moment they met, already planning their wedding and picking out rings in his head, and after months of living in each other's pockets they knew almost everything about each other. The one thing Louis didn't know about Harry was what he did for a living. Faced with vague answers and question-evading, Louis begins to imagine scandalous and dangerous secrets that Harry must be keeping - but maybe Harry's secrets aren't so sinister after all.In which Louis thinks Harry's hiding a life of crime and Harry just really likes candles.





	You Came Along And Moved Me, Honey

         “I’ve just met my future husband in the loo,” Louis Tomlinson declared twenty minutes after meeting Harry Styles. He’d just returned to his and his friends’ usual table in their usual bar and he knew for sure that he’d met his soulmate.

         It was fate.

         He was positive.

         When he’d ducked into the restroom and saddled up to the urinal he hadn’t been expecting to meet the love of his life, but then he’d felt a warm splash on his wrist and heard a small slurred “Oops!” followed by a drunken hiccup and everything seemed to fall into place. He looked up and saw a flushed boy with glossy green eyes and frizzy brown curls and felt a warm smile tugging at his lips.

         “Hi,” he’d grinned, wiping his wrist on the knee of his now-zipped trousers before offering his hand to shake.

         “Wait!” the boy shrieked, jumping back and almost falling before catching himself on the side of the urinal. Louis blanched, afraid he’d offended with his bathroom introduction, until he spoke again. “Wash your hands first. Please.”

         “It’s _your_ piss, love,” Louis laughed, diligently crossing to the sinks and washing up, making pointed eye contact in the mirror all the while. “Your willy’s still out. By the way.”

         “Oops,” he said again, righting the situation.

         “I don’t mind.”

         “Alright,” the boy said, once he was all zipped up. It had taken him a few tries in his inebriated state. He held out his hand. “I’m - ”

         “Not so fast,” Louis stopped him, grinning wryly. “It’s your turn now. I don’t know where your hands have been.”

         “You know one place they’ve been,” the boy gestured to his crotch, where a tuft of fabric from his pants had gotten caught between the teeth of his zipper and was poking out.

         He winked, or at least Louis thought it was supposed to be a wink. Really he just closed both eyes and held them for a second as though he’d fallen asleep standing, then he opened them again and stuck out his tongue lewdly.

         Louis fixed him with an unimpressed look and nodded to the sink.

         He waited patiently, hip cocked against the counter, and watched the boy lather up his hands.

         “Happy?” he asked, flicking the last of the water from his fingers onto Louis’ chest.

         “Very,” Louis smiled, offering his hand once again. “I’m Louis.”

         “Harry,” the boy replied, slotting their hands together.

         “So Harry,” Louis asked, “would it be terribly forward of me to ask you for your phone number?”

         “Just a bit,” Harry told him, unleashing a pair of dimples.

         “Well, to be fair,” Louis mused, swinging their still-linked hands between them, “you’ve already pissed on me, and usually I’d save that for at least the third date.”

         “Really?” Harry laughed. “That’s a bit prudish of you. Personally I always lead with that.”

         They fell into a comfortable silence, caught in each other’s eyes with their fingers woven together and their smiles mirrored.

         _I’m gonna marry him,_ Louis thought, mesmerized by green eyes and pinkpink lips and feeling too happy to say anything else, for fear that he’d break the spell they’d fallen under. _We’ll have a spring wedding and we’ll get a dog. I’ll have to ask him what his favorite flowers are so I can bring them to him every day. I wonder if he likes big dogs or small dogs. Maybe we’ll get one of each. And a cat. Will he take my last name or will I take his? Christ, I don’t even know his last name. I don’t care. I’d take anything he’s got._

 

They had their first date the very next day and even though Louis was completely sober Harry was just as pretty as drunk-Louis had promised he’d be. Prettier, even, because now he wasn’t fuzzy at the edges and Louis could notice more small details. Like his smell. Outside of a dingy bathroom Harry smelled amazing. Warm and floral in a way that boys usually didn’t. Louis wanted to wrap himself up in Harry’s smell. He wondered what Harry’s bed must smell like and if it would be like a concentrated pool of Harry and if he might allow Louis to roll around in it like his childhood dog used to do when she found a particularly good smell. Which might have been a bit much, but for Louis everything was a bit much when it came to Harry.

         Louis had woken up that morning and found that he’d turned his grocery list into a list of baby names, going from ‘ _eggs_ ’ and ‘ _cereal_ ’ to food-related names like ‘ _Rosemary_ ’ and ‘ _Olive_ ’ and finally to ‘ _Olivia_ ’ and ‘ _Harry Jr. (Harriet if girl)_.’ Louis had always had a tendency to fall too fast and expect long-term monogamy-type commitment right away, but even for him it was just a bit extreme.

         The second that Harry walked into the small cafe where they’d agreed to meet for their date, something inside of Louis started screaming _mineminemineminemine_ and wouldn’t shut up until he’d made some kind of physical contact, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s elbow and leading him to a small table by the window.

         “I wasn’t sure if you preferred coffee or tea,” Louis explained, gesturing to the two cups already set at the table, “so you can choose which you’d like and I’ll drink the other. Or, of course, if you’d like something else I can go back to the counter and get it.”

         “This is fine,” Harry smiled, pulling the coffee towards himself.

         “Thank God,” Louis slumped in his seat, taking the tea and dunking the tea bag a few times. “I hate coffee. I was worried you’d take the tea and I’d have to drink it.”

         Harry laughed, hiding his smile behind his own mug, and from there on everything felt natural, as though they’d been meeting for coffee every day of their lives. Louis could picture waking up next to Harry every day, hearing his deep rumble of a voice that wouldn’t speak fully coherently until he’d had his morning coffee, which he’d drink in a small breakfast nook across from Louis and his tea with their feet tangled under the table and their eyes smiling at each other over the rims of their cups.

         Louis realized that he was staring again and that it had been too long since he’d asked a question.

         “So what do you do then, Darling?”

         Harry’s eyes widened and he coughed, setting his coffee back on the table.

         “Do?” he asked, twisting his fingers together.

         “For a job,” Louis explained, his eyes sparkling. “Have you got one?”

         “Um, yes,” Harry nodded, his cheeks going pink. “I’ve got one.”

         “So what do you do?” Louis asked again, sliding his feet forward until the toes of his trainers were brushing the toes of Harry’s Chelsea boots.

         “I’m, erm, a sort of a content creator, I guess?” Harry said, his brows furrowed and his eyes focused on the woodgrain pattern of the table.

         “You guess?” Louis teased, circling his fingertip over the table and tracing patterns into the wood. “What’s that mean, ‘content creator’?”

         He followed the lines on the table until his fingers were brushing Harry’s on each rotation.

         “I make stuff,” Harry blushed, fanning out his fingers flat on the table and letting Louis trace around his hands. “Like, erm, like entertainment-type stuff. What about you?”

         “Entertainment as well,” Louis smiled, tapping the ring on Harry’s index finger and wiggling it from side to side until Harry giggled. “I write songs.”

         “Ooh!” Harry lit up, sitting straighter and drumming his fingers in a light fluttery motion. “Would I know any of your songs?”

         “Probably not, I’m still a bit of a nobody so far. I’m getting there, though - I worked on a song with Liam Payne for his last album. It wasn’t a single or anything though.”

         “Liam Payne,” Harry hummed, pursing his lips in concentration. “I don’t think I know him. Is he famous?”

         “A bit, yeah,” Louis laughed. “He won X Factor when he was eighteen. You’ve probably heard his songs, they’re always on the radio.”

         “Maybe,” Harry shrugged, looking sheepish. “I’m sort of a musical recluse though. I don’t listen to the radio much.”

         “I should have known,” Louis laughed. “Of course you don’t listen to anything mainstream. I’m sure you only listen to 8-track recordings, don’t you? Everything else is too basic, I bet.”

         “I do no such thing!” Harry replied indignantly, puffing out his chest in feigned offense. “I’ll have you know that I drug my sister to see Britney Spears three nights in a row when we went to Las Vegas last summer _and_ that I’ve got a framed photo of Shania Twain in my bathroom. It’s signed and everything! I will not stand to be profiled as a pretentious hater of pop music just because I don’t like the radio.”

         “Alright!” Louis conceded, holding up his hands and shaking with barely contained laughter. “You’re a connoisseur of pop music. You were granted a PHD in pop by Miss Carly Rae Jepsen herself. Little Mix would hand over their crowns in a moment if you even considered challenging them as the queens of pop.”

         “Thank you,” Harry nodded matter-of-factly and took another sip of coffee, his eyes glittering with mirth. All Louis could do was wonder what song would one day become _their_ song and what they’d dance to at their wedding.

 

         Within a month Louis had picked out a ring and within three he had it hidden in the back of his sock drawer, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to use it. He and Harry had been living in each other’s pockets from the moment they met and Louis had no doubt that Harry was the man of his dreams. His past boyfriends had always been put off by how eager he was for commitment, or thought he was being clingy whenever he tried to imagine their futures together, but Harry only egged him on.

         The third time Harry spent the night at his flat Louis slipped up during breakfast and asked what kind of flowers Harry would want at their wedding. He’d frozen, about to apologize for being so forward, but Harry hadn’t missed a beat. He slid a fried egg onto Louis’ plate and told him “Peonies and hydrangeas. Maybe some roses. And baby’s breath to fill out the arrangements,” before kissing his cheek and cracking another egg.

         A month after they started dating they took a walk through the park near Harry’s flat and Harry melted at the sight of every baby they passed.

         “Lou,” he’d asked, hugging Louis’ arm close to his chest. “Can we make one?”

         “I don’t know how well that would work without some outside help, Darling,” Louis chuckled, his chest feeling light and airy.

         “I don’t care,” Harry insisted. “However we get one. We could steal it. Just as long as we get one… Preferably more than one… Maybe ten.”

         “Alright,” Louis nodded, as though it was some great compromise. “I’ll see what I can do.”

         He’d give Harry anything.

         Louis knew Harry’s favorite meal and his favorite place to eat it, he knew that Harry refused to pick a favorite color because he thought it was rude to all the other colors (even though Louis also knew that he had a soft spot for pale rosey pink), and that when asked if he was a dog or a cat person Harry would change his answer five times in quick succession before sighing and asking “Can’t I just be a person who loves both?” He knew what brand of leave-in conditioner Harry liked to use, which type of almond milk he kept in his fridge, his middle name and his favorite book.

         But Louis didn’t know what Harry did for a living.

         He knew that Harry worked from home and that he did something in entertainment, and he knew that Harry made enough money to live in a modest apartment in a decent part of town, but he didn’t know what he actually _did_. Every time he asked about it Harry got fidgety and vague and always changed the subject before revealing anything concrete.

         Louis was worried.

         He would be worried that Harry might not trust him enough to really share his life with him, but he knew that Harry _did_ trust him and that only made it worse. If Harry was keeping something from him, surely it must be something big and Louis worried that it was something dangerous or illegal - or _both_.

         Harry spent most nights at Louis’ flat but Louis had only been over to Harry’s a handful of times. Every time he stayed over Harry seemed nervous and distracted and there was one room in the front hall that was always locked and that Harry claimed was a very messy closet. Then when Louis asked about the camera charging in the living room one day Harry blushed and told him he did photography sometimes.

         “Could I see some of your pictures?” Louis had asked, perking up. “I’d love to see your work, I’d bet it’s lovely.”

         “Um, maybe,” Harry had shrugged. “Weren’t you talking about that new song? Who’s the pop star you’re working with for this one?”

         _Maybe he’s a porn star,_ Louis thought while he rambled about Bebe Rexha and her latest single. _That’s why he’s so good at waxing. Maybe a camboy or something. Why else would he have an entire drawer of sex toys? He’s got more than anyone I’ve ever met. Nobody needs that many. Maybe they were presents from his viewers. Hell, I’d buy him anything he wanted if I were them._

         He watched Harry all night, wondering what exactly he did when they weren’t together.

         _Maybe he’s an escort of some kind,_ he mused, watching Harry twine pasta around his fork at dinner. _Probably not the full-sex kind. Hopefully. When we got tested he said he hasn’t slept with anyone else while we’ve been together, and I don’t think he’d lie about that. Maybe he just goes to fancy dinners with rich old men and lets them parade him around on their arms. Maybe he likes it. It’s probably nice, getting to be the pretty young thing that everybody in the room wishes they could have._

Harry was still trying to twine the spaghetti but it kept coming unraveled and he’d knocked a meatball onto the table. He pouted, and Louis noticed the tomato sauce smeared across his chin.

         _I bet they pay a fortune to take him out. God, if I had the money I’d hire him every night just so I could see his face. He’s the kind of man you’d give up everything for._

Harry had rescued the fallen meatball and popped it into his mouth, having given up on the pasta.

         _I could be supportive_ , Louis decided, _no matter what his job is. If he likes being an escort then I wouldn’t try to stop him. I’d be jealous at first, knowing he’s out with other men, but as long as he’s coming home to me every night it would be okay. The next time we watch_ Pretty Woman _I’ll try and hint that I think sex work is a valid and respectful career._

         “Louis,” Harry pleaded, holding out his fork. 

         “Here, babe,” Louis cooed, twirling the fork expertly until he had a tight noodle-spiral around the prongs and handing it back.

         _No matter what,_ he thought, _We’ll work it out. He’s it for me._

 

The next time he visited Harry’s flat he saw a picture of Harry and his family from a few years before and Harry had long beautiful curls that fell down to his chest. Louis ran his fingers through Harry’s short, just barely curling hair, and while Harry purred in contentment Louis wondered if Harry could be in witness protection.

         _Those bastards,_ he frowned, scratching lightly at Harry’s scalp. _They made him cut his hair! If it weren’t for them I’d be French braiding his hair and weaving flowers into it right now. But if it weren’t for them maybe he’d never have moved here._

Harry pushed up into his hands and Louis tugged gently on the loose curls on the top of his head.

         _I wonder what his real name is. They must have made him change it. Is it weird for him to hear me shouting another man’s name in bed? Maybe he’s gotten so used to hearing this new name that he barely even remembers who he used to be. Maybe it all feels like some vague dream or a past life. That’s so sad._

 

Then one day Louis was looking for a spoon in Harry’s kitchen and opened a drawer filled with a few dozen lighters instead. They were all different shapes and sizes, ranging from classic Zippo’s and sleek metal ones like Louis’ grandfather had always used to light his pipe, and even to long metal straw-like contraptions that Louis had never seen in his life, all mixed in with a few boxes of matches.

         _He’s an arsonist,_ Louis thought. _My poor sweet Hazza, caught in a life of crime. Maybe they pulled him in when he was just a kid, got him in on a few small jobs. Now he’s gotta keep doing it or they’ll turn him in, put all the blame on him. Or maybe he just likes it. I’d bet you can’t tell if someone’s a pyromaniac just from looking at them. Maybe setting fires makes him feel alive. Well, if this is what his life is then I want to be a part of it - no matter what he does. I’ve got a lot of black hoodies and I have decent night vision, maybe I could be his look out._

He glanced across the kitchen to where Harry was kneading bread dough, the front of his apron and half of his face covered in flour.

         _Or,_ Louis thought, frowning, _God, what if it’s drugs? I’m sure drug addicts use a lot of lighters, if they’re using those sorts of drugs, and they can be high-functioning enough that you’d never even know. I always wondered why he never seems any different when we smoke weed. He laughs a lot but that’s probably because that stuff’s like candy cigarettes to him at this point. Maybe I could help him, if it’s really gotten that bad. I helped with a few interventions at university, I’m sure I could plan one for him._

Louis closed the drawer, making a mental note to see if there was a wikihow on how to tell if your boyfriend was a drug addict, and if there was one on planning a tasteful yet effective intervention.

         “Lou,” Harry called, elbows-deep in dough. “Do you think I should add raisins to the bread? Or would that be weird?”

         “Add whatever you’d like, Darling. It’ll be lovely either way.”

 

         In the end it was Harry who came out and told him the truth.

 

         It was their five month anniversary and Harry had invited him over for dinner. Louis’ latest theory was that Harry held illegal poker games and that the locked door in his hallway hid a secret back room full of poker tables and stripper poles, but that was only because he’d rented _Molly’s Game_ the night before.

         “Hey, Baby.” Louis pulled Harry in for a kiss as soon as the door was opened. “How was your day?”

         “Good,” Harry nodded, taking the bottle of wine Louis had brought out of his hands and busying himself with finding glasses. “You?”

         Harry was always fidgety when Louis came over but he seemed especially distracted, like his mind was somewhere else.

         “Good, good,” Louis said, leaning over the counter to snag a few carrot slices from the salad bowl. “Everything smells lovely.”

         “Thanks,” Harry smiled, looking over and meeting Louis’ eyes for the first time that evening. Then his gaze caught on something beside Louis on the counter. His eyes widened and suddenly he was darting across the kitchen and reaching around Louis to snatch up a cream colored candle in a ceramic jar, clutching it to his chest.

         Louis watched in silent surprise, wondering what about the candle had made Harry so frantic. There were always the same candles in Harry’s flat: Three pillar candles of different heights, stacked with layers of colored wax to look like rainbow columns on the end table in the sitting room, one in the kitchen that smelled like rosemary, and a few tea lights that Harry liked to set on the edge of the bathtub when he took baths. Louis had never seen this candle before, but it looked like it had been burned once or twice.

         “Is that, ehm, new?” he asked, watching as Harry closed his eyes and took a slow measured breath. “It smells nice. I mean, your flat always smells amazing. But especially tonight. Is it from that?”

         “Lou,” Harry said quietly, looking guilty.

         “Yeah?” Louis asked, feeling his heartbeat rising.

         “I’ve got something to tell you.”

         _This is it,_ Louis thought, straightening his spine and trying to look like someone Harry could tell anything to. _Shit, he’s really gonna tell me._

         “I - ” Harry started, still holding the candle in white-knuckled hands. "Well, um, I think it might be easier to show you.”

         "Of course, " Louis nodded, as though he had any idea what Harry wanted to show him. He looked at Harry’s hands, wrapped tight around the candle, and focused on the pearly pink polish he’d asked Louis to help him apply the night before. That reassured him for some reason, as though nothing bad could happen when Harry’s fingernails were shiny and petal-pink and delicate as old porcelain. Louis could handle anything Harry threw at him because it was _Harry_ and he was _Louis_ and there was nothing in the world that could change that.

         Harry walked towards the hall, his back tense and his steps stiff. Louis followed, letting his fingers ghost against Harry's back reassuringly. 

         Harry pulled a key from his back pocket and unlocked the hall door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

         _Whatever it is,_ Louis thought resolutely, _I love him. He could tell me he's killed someone and I'd still love him. Whatever it is he's been hiding, we'll work through it._

As Harry turned the handle on the door Louis braced himself for a meat locker full of bodies, a safe filled with stolen jewels, or (best case scenario) Harry's secret sex dungeon. However much he'd prepared himself for that moment he was still surprised when Harry opened the door. 

         It wasn't a meat locker or a dungeon or anything outwardly sinister. It was something between a large walk-in closet and a small storage room, the walls lined with shelves and the shelves filled with candles. Candles of all sorts, mostly in jars but some in tall pillars or thin sticks, all organized by color with a back wall of solid white. The smell was overwhelming, but Louis only wanted to walk further into the room. It smelled like Harry, and he wanted to lock himself in the tiny room forever.

         "Are those candles?" Louis asked, although he knew that they were. 

         "Yeah," Harry nodded, hanging his head. 

         "Are they, ehm,” Louis began, furrowing his brows. The room was a bit odd, but it seemed innocent enough. "Are they stolen or summat?"

         "What?" Harry frowned, raising his head. "No, of course not.”

         "Okay," Louis nodded, reaching out to take Harry’s free hand and hold it in his own. Harry’s other hand was still cradling the white candle against his chest like the Madonna and Child. "Okay, so they're not stolen. Is there, uh, is there a reason you've got a closet full of candles?"

         Harry nodded.

         "I, erm, I wasn't lying when I said I made content. I do. I make videos. And these are a part of it. The candles. I make candle videos."

         "Candle videos," Louis repeated, trying to work out what exactly candle videos might be. "Like you take videos of candles? Or you make candles? On film? I don't quite know what that means, Love.”

         "They're like, reviews. Candle reviews. I make videos and I talk about candles. Like which ones I like and which ones I don't and why I think so.”

         Harry was scuffing the toe of his boot against the ground and fidgeting like a school boy.

         "So," Louis said, still in a bit of a daze. "Candle reviews. You make videos where you review candles."

         "Yeah," Harry nodded, looking a bit like Louis' younger siblings when they'd spilled fingerpaint on Louis’ bed. 

         "And that's the only secret you've been hiding?" Louis asked.  "There's nothing else you've been lying about?"

         "I wasn't lying,” Harry insisted, straightening up indignantly. "I just left out a few details.”

         He twisted his mouth around guiltily.

         “But yes. This is the only thing I’ve been omitting.”

         Louis started laughing. 

         Full bodied waves of laughter that knocked him around until he was doubled over with his hands on his knees. 

         " _Heyyyy_ ," Harry whined, shoving his shoulder. "Stop laughing, it's not funny!”

         “Sorry," Louis gasped, panting. "I'm sorry, Love, I am.”

         He took a few big breaths, the occasional giggle still slipping out, until he could finally stand straight. 

         "God, all this time I thought you were a porn star or a drug dealer or a _cannibal_ or something and it turns out you've been smelling candles on camera! This is ridiculous!”

         "Shut up,” Harry told him, unable to hide the small grin on his own face. "Did you really think I was a porn star?"

         "I didn't know _what_ to think,” Louis admitted, rejoining their hands and bringing them up so he could kiss the backs of Harry's knuckles. "You were being so secretive, I thought it must be really bad. I was getting myself ready to join you in your life of crime.”

         "You'd really join me?” Harry asked, his eyes going soft. "What if I was a bank robber or an art thief?"

         "I'd drive the getaway car,” Louis promised, sliding his arm around Harry's waist. "I'd do anything you asked, whether it was at gunpoint or not.”

         "Lou," Harry simpered, setting the candle in his hand on the nearest shelf and wrapping both arms around Louis’ neck. "You're really not mad?"

         "I could never be mad at you,” Louis promised, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “So the camera, that was for filming the videos I’d presume?”

         “Yep,” Harry nodded.

         “Not porn.”

         “No porn,” Harry confirmed. “I accidentally started filming naked one time but I think I deleted all the footage.”

         “Shame,” Louis tutted. “But what about all the sex toys?”

         “What about them?” Harry sniffed.

         “Why would you have so many if you’re not a cam boy?” Louis asked, already preening as though he’d finally caught Harry in a lie. “Nobody needs that many if they aren’t getting off on camera.”

         “Louis!” Harry barked indignantly. “I _told_ you, I’m not a cam boy! I just like to have some variety - and if I remember correctly I’m not the only person who uses those. I _can_ be, though, if you keep this up.”

         “Alright, alright,” Louis conceded, slumping back. “You’re not a cam boy. Noted. But what about the lighters? I’m guessing you aren’t an arsonist either?”

         Harry snorted. “Those are for lighting my candles.”

         “And the hair cut?” Louis asked. “No witness protection identity switches?”

         “You’re _mad_ ,” Harry shook his head. “Just a hair cut. I used to get paranoid that I’d get too close to the candles and my hair would go up in flames and then one day it happened and one of my curls got singed so I went ahead and cut them all so I wouldn’t have to worry.”

         “Of course,” Louis nodded, as though this were obvious. “It’s a shame though, I think I miss your hair even if I never got to see it in person.”

         “Maybe I’ll grow it out again,” Harry conceded. “Just a bit.”

         “I’m very good at plaiting from doing all my sisters’ hair,” Louis offered. “If you grow it long again I’ll braid it back every day for you so you don’t have to worry about it.”

         “You don’t have to do that,” Harry argued.

         “It’d be a bit selfish, if I’m being honest,” Louis grinned. “I’d love to plait your hair. But that’s for later. C'mon, I want to know more about this candle video thing.”

         "Okay," Harry giggled, separating so that he could pull the door of the closet shut. "I've got to keep this closed or the smell gets too overpowering."

         "I like it," Louis smiled.  "It's like a whole room full of you"

         Harry just grinned, taking his hand and pulling him towards the computer in the living room. He tapped the spacebar to bring the screen back to life and pulled up a bookmark to a YouTube channel with his own face as the avatar. 

         “Hazza hearts three-wicks?” Louis read, sitting down in the chair and squinting at the screen.

         “I needed a screen name and I was sixteen,” Harry said, pinching Louis’ arm. “Now I can’t change it because I’ve got a brand to maintain. Plus my subscribers would be devastated. They like making fun of me for it.”

         Louis looked at the subscriber count and smiled proudly.

         “Two-hundred thousand,” he read, beaming up at Harry. “People really watch you.”

         "Yeah," Harry nodded bashfully. "I'm not the most popular or anything, but I've got my little candle family and that's plenty."

         "Little candle family,” Louis repeated, grinning fondly. 

         “Fuck off,” Harry laughed, stepping back.

         “So can I watch some?” Louis asked eagerly.

         “You’d want to?” Harry frowned. “You don’t have to. They’re really boring.”

         “Of course I want to,” Louis said earnestly. “I’d like nothing more. I want to watch all of them, if you’ll let me.”

         “Okay,” Harry nodded, biting his lip. “But not while I’m here. It’s weird watching yourself, it would just make me nervous.”

         “Whatever you want,” Louis told him, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s hand before he got too far away.

         "I'm gonna go finish up dinner and you can watch one if you’d like.”

         “This is so wonderful,” Louis grinned. “You’ve been doing this for, what? Five years? Six?”

         “At least,” Harry nodded. “Coming up on seven I think.”

         “There’s hundreds of these videos, so that’s got to be about a million hours of footage - all of you! Now whenever I miss you I’ll have a whole backlog of videos to watch so I can hear your voice. And, God, I’d bet there’s lots of you as a teenager, aren’t there? I can watch them all and imagine how big of a crush I’d have had on you if we met as kids.”

         Harry was looking like he might cry, so Louis stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes to make him laugh instead. 

         "So which should I start with? What's this one? It's got a lot of views.”

         "Not that one!” Harry shrieked, leaning over Louis’ shoulder to scroll past the 26:43 minute long video titled “ _SHARON FROM PRIMARK KNOWS WHAT SHE DID_.”

         "What's that one?" Louis asked eagerly, twisting his fingers in the front of Harry's shirt to keep him pressed against his back. 

         "Nothing," Harry insisted, trying for nonchalance. "It's nothing!”

         "It's your most popular video, Haz."

         "It's nothing okay?" Harry sniffed. "It's just that one time Primark got in a new shipment of honeysuckle candles and I know they always sell out right away so I called in and I asked them to hold one for me and they said they'd hold it for twelve hours but when I went in later that day fucking _Sharon_ had sold my candle to someone else and I bet she didn’t even put it on hold at all, she only said that so I’d stop calling the store, and when I got there and they told me I’d driven all the way over there in rush hour traffic for nothing I asked to speak to the manager but all they did was - !”

         He stopped, breathing hard. He'd steadily been getting louder and his cheeks had turned pink and Louis was shaking with the effort of holding back his laughter. 

         “Sorry.” Harry said, swallowing. “It was a bit of a low point for me. I'd hate for you to see me that way. It's the only video on my channel that's been flagged as adult content because of the profanity. I'm not proud of it."

         "Couldn't you take it down if you wanted?" Louis asked, still grinning, and pulled him closer until he could fit one arm around his hips. 

         "I couldn’t!" Harry insisted, his eyes wide. "If I took it down Sharon might see and think I've forgiven her - which I _haven’t_. She needs to know that it wasn't okay, Lou.”

         "Of course, Sweetheart,” Louis nodded dutifully, pulling him in until his nose was pressed against Harry's stomach. "I can't believe Karen would do that to you.”

         “Sharon," Harry pouted.

         “ _Sharon,_ " Louis parroted.

         “Fucking Sharon,” Harry seethed.

         “That bitch,” Louis agreed, hiding his smile against Harry’s shirt. "We'll never shop at Primark again."

         "Maybe not _ever_ again,” Harry amended after a moment, knotting his fingers in Louis’ hair. "I like their socks."

         "Only socks then," Louis grinned.

         "Only socks.”

         “Go on then,” Louis nodded, landing a light smack on Harry’s bum. “I can’t watch these with you lurking over me shoulder.”

         “Alright,” Harry smiled, stepping out of Louis’ embrace. “Not the Primark one, though.”

         “Promise,” Louis said, holding up his hand. He watched Harry retreat to the kitchen with a fond smile on his face before turning back to the screen. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning, trying to decide which present to open first. He scrolled down, looking through videos with titles like “ _Jo Malone $550 Luxury Candle Review_ ” and “ _How I Care For My Candles (Tips and Tricks!)_ ” until he saw one dated just after they started seeing each other, called “ _February Favourites (Diptyque, Tyler Candles, Unicorn Manor and More!)_ ”

         When Louis clicked on the video there was a short burst of uncopywrited electric pop music over a pink screen with “hazza<3sthreewicks: FEBRUARY FAVOURITES”  written across it. Already Louis had to shove a fist over his mouth to cover up his grin.

         “Hello my wick-le friends!” Harry said as his face filled the screen. He waved his hand and smiled sleepily. “There have been a lot of requests for another favorites video, and I know I haven’t done one since - was it November? Let me know down bellow just how neglectful I’ve been. Anyway,” he held up a small white candle in a jar, “the first on my list for this month is the Diptyque ‘Roses’ candle.”

         The angle switched to a close up on the candle with Harry’s fingers shifting it around and occasionally tapping against the glass with his rings or fingernails.

         “This one smells a bit like my nan,” he drawled, his voice deep and slow in a way that slowed Louis’ heartbeat, “but in a very nice way? I know that makes it sound like it’s an old lady candle but it’s not. It smells like a visit to your nan’s house when she’s been baking all day so the whole house is warm and she just put a big vase of roses on the table that she cut from her garden so her hands smell like roses and she’s wearing all that face powder that smells really sweet and kind of clean? It smells like hugging your nan right then. Comforting and clean and rosey.”

         It went back to the shot of Harry’s whole torso and Louis watched as Harry lifted the candle to his face and tucked his nose inside the glass. He took a few long inhales and sighed.

         “The cold scent is already fairly strong but once you light it it just spreads out and wraps all around you. The throw is very nice, pretty far reaching. Maybe an eight or so.” He grinned and looked up at the camera. “It’s pretty _lit_ , you could say.”

         “You sound like a granddad when you say ‘lit,’” Louis shouted, tilting his head towards the kitchen.

         “Fuck off,” Harry giggled from the other room.

         “How many times have you used that joke?” Louis called.

         Harry didn’t respond, but that was enough of an answer for Louis. He’d be willing to bet that Harry made the same joke in every one of his videos.

         “This is the P.F. Candle Company’s ‘Number Four: Teakwood and Tobacco,’” the Harry on screen was saying, holding up an amber-colored jar. Louis skimmed through a few of the comments while Harry read the online description for the candle and saw scores of people thanking Harry for the video and his recommendations, along with a handful mentioning ‘unintentional ASMR.’ There were also quite a few commenting on Harry’s long-winded and unorthodox candle descriptions, which went beyond the apparent usual formula of _introduce the candle, read the description, list the notes and the throw, and give it a rating_. Harry went into detail with each candle, giving a very loving care to every one of his descriptions. He painted a vivid picture of each scent in a way that nobody else seemed to do.

         “This one smells like a very handsome man,” Harry smirked, tapping the jar mischievously. “A very handsome man who smokes a pipe and wears expensive leather shoes and a cologne that his mum gave him for Christmas. He probably does wood-working in his free time and he collects rare books. His favorite flavor is salted caramel so his mouth always tastes sweet and salty.”

         Louis remembered the salted caramel cupcakes he and Harry had eaten towards the end of their second date. It made him feel a bit giddy.

         “This is always one of my favorites. I like burning it when I’m feeling lonely or when I have’t had a date in a while. The throw is great, always fills up the whole house. Hopefully I’ll be able to put it back in the candle closet soon, though. I’ve got another date tonight with that boy I mentioned in my last video, so wish me luck!”

         Louis could feel the fondness rolling through his entire body as he watched Harry ramble away, listing more of the scent notes and painting a bigger and bigger picture around each candle.

         Louis understood.

         He understood why so many people wanted to watch Harry talk about candles and he understood why Harry liked his candles so much.

         Each one had a different scent and each scent had a different purpose. They created different moods and they set the scene like the backdrop on a stage. Each had a memory or a fantasy bottled up inside of it and Harry had the power to unleash them all. They were like little spells right in the palm of his hand, ready to be cast with the quickest flick of a lighter. This one for love, that one for happiness, and this one for good fortune. 

         He watched until the end of the video, when Harry gathered up all the candles he’d mentioned in his arms and gave a winning smile to the camera.

         “So that’s all the favorites I’ll be mentioning for now,” he told his viewers. “Next week I’m gonna review that really expensive Jo Malone candle so keep an eye out for that. I wanted to do a video with the most expensive candle I could find and compare it to some of the more median priced ones, but the most expensive one I found was three-thousand pounds and I don’t think I can justify spending that much on one candle. If anyone wants to sponsor a video though…”

         He trailed off, putting on a big cheesey grin.

         “But anyway, that’s all for today. Remember to . . . ”

         Harry continued to ramble as he signed off and Louis stood up, walking towards the kitchen as the video played out. Real life Harry - _his_ Harry - was standing at the stove with his back to the doorway and Louis crept up behind him. Harry was humming something quietly and he jumped when Louis wound his arms around the taller boy’s waist. There was a grapefruit scented candle that Louis had never seen before burning on the counter.

         “I get it,” Louis murmured with his lips pressed against the back of Harry’s neck. “I don’t think I get everything about it, like I’ve still got some questions, but I get it. I don’t know anything about candles but I could watch you talk forever. I’m not surprised you’ve got so many followers, there’s just something about you that people want to watch. You’re captivating.”

         Harry had twisted in his arms and was looking at him with big hopeful eyes.

         “You really think so?”

         “Yeah,” Louis nodded, kissing his nose and smiling fondly. “And the candles. I can do candles. If you like ‘em, I like ‘em. And I think I get _why_ you like them, at least a bit of it. It’s more than just ‘nice smell,’ yeah? I’d like to hear more about it, understand some more. I think it’s lovely.”

         “Thank you,” Harry said, his throat tight.

         “Of course,” Louis grinned. “I’ve spent months preparing myself to find out you were an ax murderer or a cannibal or a secret pop star or summat. This is nothing. It’s like a bonus. A perfect wonderful boyfriend whose flat always smells amazing and who I can hear and see any time I want, any time of the day? You just keep getting better.”

         “Really,” Harry told him, “thank you. For taking it so well. I know it seems silly that I didn’t tell you sooner but it’s never gone well when I told people before.”

         “What do you mean?” Louis asked with a frown, leading Harry over to the kitchen table where their plates had been laid out so they could eat while they talked.

         “They just didn’t get it,” he shrugged, poking at his food with his fork. “All my boyfriends before you just thought it was weird. They either thought it was some fetish thing or that I was just mental.”

         “Fuck them,” Louis scowled, reaching over to take Harry’s hand protectively. “It’s not weird. It’s wonderful. A bit quirky maybe, but _wonderful_.”

         “That’s okay,” Harry told him, squeezing his hand. “I’m kind of glad, in a way. They were all dickheads so it was a good way to weed them out before it got too serious.”

         “So you told them all right away?”

         “Pretty early on, yeah.”

         “Why’d you wait so long with me?” Louis asked, pressing forward against the table.

         “Because you were different,” Harry shrugged. “Because I actually liked you. I thought maybe if I waited then you’d be able to see me as more than just this weirdo who smells candles.”

         “Sweetheart,” Louis tutted, pulling Harry’s hand close and pressing a kiss over his knuckles, “I was gone for you from the moment we met. You could have told me in that loo that you were a weirdo who smells candles and I would have dropped to one knee and proposed right there. I’d have wanted to be _Mr_. Candle Weirdo.”

         Harry let out a sharp bark of laughter and took his hand back to cover his mouth.

         “I hate you,” he snickered, grinning widely.

         “I love you,” Louis countered.

         “I love you too.”

 

         “You’re sure it’s not a sex thing?” Louis asked later that night, once they’d retreated to Harry’s bedroom and made quick work of undressing each other. “I could run and grab a candle and a spoon right now and I’m sure I could have a decent hole carved in the wax before you went fully soft, knowing you.”

         “Louis!” Harry squawked, looking scandalized. “I do _not_ want to fuck a candle.”

         “Alright,” Louis conceded. “I just wanted to be sure. But I’m sure there’s more than one way to use them. Some of them are a bit phallic. And there’s always wax play. I’ve always wondered what that was all about.”

         Harry thought for a moment, his brow furrowed.

         “Not this time,” he decided at last, and Louis locked that away in his mind.

         “Okay, so no candles in the bedroom,” he noted.         

         “Not _tonight_ ,” Harry corrected. “I do have certain candles I burn when I get myself off. But it’s not a sex thing.”

         “Not a sex thing,” Louis smirked. “Or course.”

         “I don’t fuck candles!” Harry insisted again. “I’ve just got certain ones that I like.”

         “Which ones?” Louis asked wryly, leaning back against the pillows and imagining Harry’s next video title: “ _My Favorite Candles To Wank To (Tips and Tricks!)”_

         “Well lately it’s just been my cinnamon spice candle.”

         “Ooh,” Louis hooted, tilting his head coquettishly. “’s that what get you off then? Cinnamon spice?”

         “No,” Harry blushed, tucking his chin. “I mean, yes. But it’s because it reminds me of you.”

         “Is that what I smell like? Snickerdoodles? Christmas cookies?”

         “Not necessarily,” Harry shrugged. “But it’s not always about that. You’ve got that cinnamon body wash you use sometimes, but mostly it’s like you _feel_ like cinnamon spice. You’re a little bit sharp at the edges but you’re sweet and warm and you feel like home. Plus cinnamon spice has always been my favorite, and now _you’re_ my favorite.”

         “Harry,” Louis whined, his eyes getting wet. He’d started stroking himself while Harry talked but now he just sat teary eyed with one hand still wrapped uselessly around his cock. “New rule: You can’t make me cry when we’re about to have sex.”

         “Alright,” Harry nodded, crawling forward to kiss him with smiling lips. “No crying during sex.”

         “No candles in the bedroom,” Louis continued.

         “Tonight, at least,” Harry corrected.

         “Tonight,” Louis smiled, pressing their foreheads together. “Anything else?”

         “No crying in baseball,” Harry added, grinning cheekily.

         “Deal,” Louis nodded, wrapping all of his limbs around Harry and pulling him in for a deep kiss.

 

         “This one smells like love,” Harry smiled, holding a warm yellow candle up to his nose and letting his eyes drift shut. “It’s like you’re on a picnic with the love of your life and you’re feeding each other strawberries dipped in honey. There’s clovers and daisies on the grass and it’s sunny but there’s enough of a breeze that you’re not too hot and there must be some orange trees near by because every time the wind blows the air smells like citrus.”

         “I just smell honey,” his husband said from behind him. Harry’s eyes snapped open. He hadn’t heard Louis enter his filming room.

         “You don’t have as finely tuned a sense of smell as me,” Harry smiled, tilting his head up for a kiss.

         “That’s why I leave the candle stuff to you,” Louis grinned, granting Harry his kiss before leaning over his shoulder and smelling the candle. “As I said: Honey.”

         “Yes, Dear?” Harry asked, unable to resist. Louis pinched his side and made him squeal.

         “I think I smell the citrus,” Louis mused, taking in a deep breath. “It’s a bit floral, too. Like maybe the bees were all flocking to an orange grove and they’ve just now gotten back to the hive.”

         “Orange blossom is one of the notes,” Harry told him proudly. “I told you you’ve gotten better at this.”

         “Still not as good as you,” Louis insisted fondly. “I’m just off to the studio. I told Liam I’d meet him there to help with the new mix on one song. I wanted to say bye before I left though.”

         “Bye, Darling.” Harry wrapped his free hand around Louis’ neck to pull him down for a goodbye kiss.

         “I’ll see you tonight,” Louis promised, leaving Harry to his filming. As he left he could hear Harry rambling about how the smell was “sweet, but in a warm way - not that sugary school dance kind of sweet.” He grinned, walking past Harry’s new candle room which was really more of a candle alcove. Around the time they got engaged Louis’ song collaborations had taken off and he’d began to make a name for himself, all while Harry’s channel was booming and nearing his first million subscribers, and they’d been able to buy a house together shortly after they were married. Louis had been insistent that the realtor show them houses with a good space for Harry’s candle collection, along with a room he could use to film in, and they’d found the perfect one with big airy windows that kept the whole house filled with light and allowed enough air flow that the smell of the candles was never too concentrated. Louis sometimes missed the cramped closet they were originally kept in though, where he’d occasionally sneak off to just to sit and be surrounded by Harry until he got a headache from it all.

         Now the candles were spread out, incorporated throughout the house and switched out often so that Harry could test and see which candles worked best in which areas of the house. There was always a new mix of scents to greet him when Louis got home but there was always the same Harry, and that’s all he cared about.

         There was a smaller version of Harry’s honey-orange blossom candle burning in the front hall and Louis smiled as he passed it. He thought of kissing Harry when he’d just eaten an orange, when the juice on his chin made his skin feel tacky against Louis’ but his mouth tasted sweet and summery. He thought of braiding daisies into Harry’s hair when it had first gotten long enough to hold a braid, and he thought of Harry licking the honey from Louis' fingers when he poured it into his tea and the jar spilled over, leaving big syrupy golden strands running down his hand and Harry grabbed his arm, pulling him close and sucking it off of his skin.

         _He’s right_ , he thought, blowing a silent kiss towards the filming room before closing the front door behind him. _It smells just like love._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this weird candle fic! Hopefully you enjoyed it and would also love to watch Harry review candles for hours on end because that's the dream. <3 <3 <3  
> [tumblr](http://lesbianiconharrystyles.tumblr.com/)  
> <3 <3 <3  
> [fic post](http://lesbianiconharrystyles.tumblr.com/post/175614749307/you-came-along-and-moved-me-honey-8k-louis-was)  
> <3 <3 <3  
> 


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